


My Brother’s Keeper

by barbitone



Series: Captive Prince Fanfiction [1]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Auguste centric, Auguste is the best boy, Canon Typical Abuse, Gen, M/M, POV Auguste (Captive Prince), Violence, canon typical sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 07:07:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19807213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone
Summary: Laurent was kneeling on the floor before the fire, playing with an intricately painted wooden toy knight. Their uncle sat behind him in a tall-backed chair, reading out loud from a book while idly stroking Laurent’s hair. Laurent was only in a white shirt, the fabric so fine as to be nearly translucent, unlaced at the neck. The firelight was playing over his delicate ivory skin where the neck of the shirt gaped open, laces trailing down haphazardly.The crackling of the fire, the casual undress, uncle’s hypnotic voice, his fingers tangled in Laurent’s golden hair. It made Auguste’s skin crawl.The much lighter sequel-My Brother's Lover





	My Brother’s Keeper

**Author's Note:**

> I think we've all read the books and are up to speed about what a shit the Regent (in this case, simply 'uncle') is. Expect canon-typical levels of non-descript child sexual abuse, but at the heart of it this is a story about Auguste, and Auguste and Laurent.
> 
> There was going to be a second chapter, but since it's very different in tone/subject matter I'll be posting it as a separate fic.

* * *

Sword practice ended early and Auguste thought it would be nice to take Laurent for a surprise ride through the royal forest. He found himself smiling as he strode through the halls, nodding politely to the courtiers that greeted him.

He didn’t bother knocking, simply pushed open the door and instantly stopped dead in his tracks.

Laurent was kneeling on the floor before the fire, playing with an intricately painted wooden toy knight. Their uncle sat behind him in a tall-backed chair, reading out loud from a book while idly stroking Laurent’s hair. Laurent was only in a white undershirt, the fabric so fine as to be nearly translucent, unlaced at the neck. The firelight was playing over his delicate ivory skin where the neck of the shirt gaped open, laces trailing down haphazardly.

The crackling of the fire, the casual undress, uncle’s hypnotic voice, his fingers tangled in Laurent’s golden hair. It made Auguste’s skin crawl.

Laurent looked up when he heard the door open and smiled widely, dropping the toy knight and running over to hug his legs. “Auguste!”

“Hello there,” Auguste said, patting Laurent on the head gently. “Uncle,” he said, and it felt as though the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees.

“Hello Auguste,” uncle said, inclining his head with an infuriating smile. He wasn’t at all concerned or guilty over Auguste walking in on- on- whatever _this_ was.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Auguste said, fighting to keep his voice from trembling. His heart was pounding with rage like he’d never felt before, not even in the heat of battle.

“Uncle brought me a toy!” Laurent said, beaming up at him.

“I saw. Where’s your doublet?”

Laurent blushed, hiding his face against his pants leg. “I accidentally spilled water on it. Uncle helped me take it off to dry by the fire.”

_Accidentally._

“I see.”

Their uncle was still smiling blithely, as if taunting him. More than anything Auguste wanted to strangle him here and now, but his hands were tied. King Aleron refused to see the truth about his brother, refused to hear any ill word about him, and uncle well knew it. If Auguste gave into his urge to lay hands on him, he’d find some way to spin it around. He could have Auguste punished, or worse- sent away from court. Auguste would die before he left Laurent unprotected in the den of vipers that were his father’s courtiers.

His mind was boiling with rage; he couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t let this continue or escalate. And yet, there was so little he could do.

“What’s wrong?” Laurent asked, looking up at him so sweetly with his big blue eyes.

“Nothing at all, darling,” Auguste forced himself to say. “How would you like to come out for a ride with me?”

Laurent’s smile was answer enough and Auguste ruffled his hair. “Let’s go then.”

Laurent laughed as he practically ran out of the room and Auguste turned on his heel, following after him without bothering to say anything else to his bastard of an uncle.

“Oh no!” Laurent said, stopping in the middle of the hall. “I forgot my doublet!” He turned as if to go back and Auguste knew if he laid eyes on their uncle again just now his fists would be soon to follow.

He bent to grab Laurent and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, walking to the stables while Laurent laughed and tried to wriggle out of his hold. 

“What, you think I’ll let you get cold?” Auguste teased, tickling him a little just to hear him laughing. It was a clear and untroubled sound, like the ringing of bells, soothing the pacing beast raging inside him.

“Auguste! It’s not proper!”

“Oh is that it?” He set Laurent down before opening the laces of his own doublet and setting the garment over Laurent’s shoulders. It dwarfed him comically and Auguste knelt to at least roll up the sleeves. “How’s that?”

“...It’s too big,” Laurent muttered, looking down to hide his blush of pleasure at having his big brother’s attention.

“Oh darling,” Auguste said fondly, “you’re just as cute as a button.”

“I’m not cute!” Laurent cried out, blushing with indignation now. He was a moment away from stamping his foot and Auguste laughed, taking his hand and standing.

“Come. Tell me how you are. How are your studies?”

“Good,” Laurent said. “Very good! My tutors say I’m doing well.” He launched into a detailed explanation of whatever it was he was learning and Auguste let his excited babbling wash over him. His input wasn’t needed beyond the occasional thoughtful “hm,” and finally he had space to think.

He had to do something about his uncle and he had to do it soon. Laurent was eight now, just old enough to start catching his uncle’s attention. He had to do something, because the next time he walked in on a scene like what he’d seen earlier, he would snap and kill him in cold blood. And then he’d end up in a jail cell or on the block and Laurent would be alone, which was unthinkable.

In the stables Auguste waved the servants away, moving to saddle his horse himself.

“Why don’t you let the stablehands do it?” Laurent asked.

“You know why.”

“I like to hear you say it.”

“Do you,” Auguste teased, lifting him up to sit on a nearby barrel as he went through the work of checking his horse over before saddling it. “How can you expect a horse to trust you if you leave its care in the hands of others? How can you expect it to perform its best for you if it doesn’t trust you? A man and his mount must be as one, for they depend on one another- not just in battle, but in every ride, in every moment.

“It is the same with people. They need your personal attention, your tender care, so they can come to know who you are, and that you are worthy of their faith. Once you have their faith, they’ll follow where you lead. They’ll depend on you, as you’ll depend on them. A prince must understand such things. The bonds of true faith and trust are not easily broken.”

Laurent was smiling when he looked over, fiddling with his laces as he listened. Auguste smiled back and picked him up again to settle him in the saddle before mounting up behind.

“Why don’t you take the lead?” he said, handing Laurent the reins.

“Where shall we go?”

“Wherever you like.” Auguste nudged the horse forward and wrapped his arms around his brother, indulging in the desire to drop a kiss to the top of his golden head. They left the stables and headed towards the path through the royal forest at an easy pace.

Even at eight, Laurent was good with the horse, steady with the reins. A natural born horseman, a natural born scholar, a natural born swordsman. He had a sweet disposition and a kind heart, so many other gifts. He would blossom into a clever young man, and then- a prince worthy of the crown. Auguste would see to that himself.

Laurent took them to one of his favorite places, a small pond in the center of the forest loud with the croaking of frogs and surrounded by wildflowers.

Auguste helped him off the horse and they lazed about in the grass together, counting dragonflies.

“Laurent,” Auguste said at last, his skin prickling with unease. He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject without scaring him, but something needed to be said. “You know I love you, don’t you?”

“Of course, Auguste,” Laurent said with a smile, sitting up so he could prop his chin on Auguste’s chest. “I love you too.”

The light of the setting sun backlit his golden hair, turning it into a halo. Even now, still a child, his angelic beauty showed through and Auguste’s breath caught in his throat as he realized that everyone else could see it too.

“I’ll always do my best to protect you,” Auguste said seriously and Laurent frowned at his tone but didn’t interrupt. “But I’m afraid there are some things I can’t protect you from. I can’t be with you always. And there are people-”

He broke off, looking away from Laurent’s clear blue eyes, brimming with confusion.

“There are bad people,” Auguste said. “Who might seek to… take advantage of you. They might be people you think you can trust, people you care about.” He thought of Laurent’s excited smile as he said-

_“Uncle brought me a toy!”_

He should have kept a closer eye, made sure that Laurent never regarded their uncle fondly. Was it already too late to break uncle’s oily grip on him?

“Who?” Laurent asked.

If he said it outright, would Laurent even believe him? Or would his kind nature stop him from seeing the evil in others?

“I just want you to be careful, darling,” Auguste said gently. “And if anything… untoward happens, if you ever feel unsafe or uncomfortable with what someone says, or does, or even… if someone looks at you in a way that feels… bad. You tell me. Do you understand? You tell me, and I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of you.”

“Yes, Auguste,” Laurent said seriously.

Auguste could tell that what he’d said hadn’t really sunk in, but it was a start, at least.

“Come, let’s head back,” Auguste said with a small smile. “They’ll be serving dinner soon.”

“Maybe they’ll have lemon tarts for dessert,” Laurent said brightly as he stood.

On the ride back Auguste got him talking about his lessons again, about his favorite books. When they returned to Laurent’s rooms so Auguste could help him dress for dinner, their uncle was gone.

Auguste’s gaze caught on the toy knight, laying abandoned on the ground where Laurent had dropped it earlier.

“You go on ahead, darling,” he said quietly. “I’ll meet you in the hall.”

Laurent nodded and left with a smile, and finally Auguste was alone.

He let his rage simmer over and brought his boot down on the toy with a growl, again and again and again until it was little more than brightly colored splinters, all the while imagining that it was uncle’s face.

* * *

Auguste squinted against the glare of the noonday sun as he watched soldiers setting up the whipping post in the yard. Laurent seemed nervous beside him so he dropped his hand to Laurent’s narrow shoulder, squeezing gently in reassurance.

“This is such a grizzly sight for a young boy,” uncle said from his other side. “He’s too young to be witnessing an execution.”

“He’s a prince,” Auguste said firmly. “He’s not too young to witness justice.”

The soldiers brought in a shackled prisoner and tied him to the post.

“What did he do?” Laurent asked, his voice trembling.

Auguste pulled him closer against his side. “He forced himself on a child,” he lied. 

The man hadn’t been selected for his crime, but rather for his rather shocking resemblance to uncle. But that was no matter- his actual crime warranted the same punishment, and he couldn’t protest either way. Last night Auguste had cut out his tongue.

“A hideous crime,” uncle murmured with a frown.

“Yes,” Auguste said coldly. “And so he will be flogged to death before the people, and justice will be served.”

He raised his fist and the flogging began.

Laurent flinched when the man first screamed, but afterwards he stood firm, only trembling a little as he watched wide-eyed and pale-faced. It took a long time to flog a man to death, and a few minutes in uncle turned away with a noise of disgust.

“I have other duties to attend to,” he said faintly.

“I really must insist you stay,” Auguste said, his voice cold and brittle. “We wouldn’t want the court to think you condone his crime.”

“Of course,” uncle said, scowling. His eyes were flashing angrily as Auguste stared him down, but nevertheless he turned back, crossing his arms over his chest.

The man on the flogging post was trying to plead for his life, hideous muffled cries spilling from his lips between agonized screams.

Laurent sobbed and turned to press his face against Auguste, and Auguste dropped his hand to cradle the back of his head.

“It’s too cruel,” Laurent said. “Auguste, please- does he really deserve-”

“Yes,” Auguste said firmly. “When men choose to act as beasts they deserve to die as beasts. That is the law of the world, and no man is above it. Not a prince, not even a king.” _And not a king’s brother._ “Wouldn’t you agree, uncle?”

“Quite right,” uncle said.

Auguste narrowed his eyes as he watched him. His message had been sent and received.

It lasted for what felt like ages, and afterwards Auguste held Laurent’s hand as he walked him back to his rooms. His face was pale and his eyes haunted, he was sweating. And still he managed to wait until they were alone before falling to his knees and vomiting into the chamberpot.

Auguste felt regret shiver through him as he watched the tears streaming down Laurent’s face and knelt beside him, stroking his back.

“I’m sorry,” Laurent whispered, wiping at his face with the back of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I should be- stronger, braver. I’m- you tried to teach me and I’m- I’ve shamed myself.” He stared into the chamberpot with disgust, still shaking slightly.

“Hush,” Auguste said. “I know it was a hard thing to watch. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I threw up after my first execution too.”

“You did?” Laurent asked, looking up at him with disbelief.

“Oh yes,” Auguste said with a small smile. “I threw up in the yard, right on father’s boots.”

“You didn’t,” Laurent said incredulously.

“Oh yes I did,” Auguste said, reaching out to tuck a lock of sweaty hair behind Laurent’s ear. “I was just about your age. I wasn’t nearly as brave then as you are now.”

He felt guilt rise through him and pushed it down. He needed to send uncle a message. And he needed to send Laurent a message too.

“I know it’s difficult,” Auguste said gently. “But there are bad men in this world. And when they do bad things, their punishment must be just, swift, and brutal. So that others will see, and think twice. Do you understand?”

Laurent nodded slowly. “I understand,” he whispered. “Thank you, Auguste.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up, darling,” Auguste said. “We can go for a ride afterwards, it will help clear your head. We can talk, if you like. About what you just saw, or anything at all. You can tell me anything, and I won’t ever be angry with you.”

“Yes,” Laurent nodded, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. Auguste pulled him into a tight embrace, stroking his hair as Laurent clutched at his back.

The whipping had been a brutal lesson, and one that Laurent was too young for. But the world wouldn’t spare him its horrors until he came of age, and there were so many who wished to take advantage of him. Auguste would prepare him as well as he could, as gently as he could, but this was something that he couldn’t afford to shelter him from.

“Come along,” he said at last, drawing Laurent up and leading him to the wash basin to wash his face and comb his hair, giving him a glass of water to rinse out his mouth. He seemed steadier after, and when Auguste mussed his freshly-combed hair he even managed a smile.

* * *

Two years slipped past peacefully and without further incident. Uncle was appropriately respectful and Auguste didn’t catch him looking at Laurent again, much less touching him. Laurent himself seemed happy and healthy, bright as ever. Auguste considered the matter closed.

That was his mistake.

His mind worked in straight lines, he didn’t anticipate his uncle’s twisted retaliation.

At the time he wasn’t unduly surprised when his father sent him as the head of a diplomatic delegation to Patras. He was to be King one day, it wasn’t unreasonable for him to be involved in such matters.

The first day was bright and clear, the delegation was in excellent spirits. But Auguste found himself unable to sleep that night, tossing and turning in his tent. Dread was building in his gut, a strange feeling that had no source.

The second day he was quiet and the dread only grew until it was all he could think about. He didn’t talk, didn’t eat, he was so distracted he could barely stay in the saddle. Something was wrong. When they stopped to make camp he took one look at the men around him and suddenly saw them with clear eyes. Many weren’t part of his normal retinue, most were men that held Laurent in the highest regard, a few were part of Laurent’s personal guard.

Why were they here, instead of guarding their prince? Why was Auguste here, instead of keeping watch over his brother?

His knees nearly buckled as he recognized his uncle’s work and without a second thought he took a fresh horse and mounted bareback. There wasn’t a second to waste.

“Your highness?” one of his generals asked in confusion.

“I have to- I’m- I have to go back,” Auguste managed before spurring the horse into a reckless gallop.

He rode through the night and the following day, changing mounts in the towns he passed until he was galloping through the gates of Arles. It was late evening when he stormed through the halls of the palace, not even seeing the servants and courtiers throwing themselves out of his path. His mind was swimming with terror as he slammed open the doors to Laurent’s chambers.

The bed was occupied by two writhing figures, he could hear quiet pained whimpers.

He saw red.

He wasn’t capable of speech as he dragged his uncle off the bed, off of _Laurent,_ and slammed him into the ground. He wrapped his hands around uncle’s throat and bore down with all his strength.

Uncle was gasping for air, his eyes bulging as he struggled to push him off and away.

“You bastard,” Auguste hissed and used his grip on his neck to yank him up and slam the back of his head against the ornate floor tiles. There was a satisfying crack so he did it again, and again, and again, a fine spray of blood filling the air like red mist.

He didn’t know how long it lasted, he was wild with rage.

There was wailing somewhere close by. Laurent was weeping.

“Your highness!” someone cried out and Auguste looked up to see a dozen soldiers standing nervously before him. He looked down at the long-dead corpse of his uncle beneath him and stumbled back with a gasp, rising to his feet.

The soldiers flinched back.

Auguste took a deep shuddering breath. “Get a doctor,” he ordered.

“Your highness,” a soldier said nervously. “He- he’s dead.”

“Not for this filth!” Auguste roared, kicking the corpse in his rage. “I want his head mounted on a pike and marched through the streets! I want his corpse ripped to shreds and scattered on the winds! Get a doctor for my brother!”

He turned to Laurent and really _saw_ him for the first time, weeping as he sat amongst the tangled sheets. He was shirtless and there were bruises on his neck and trailing down his chest, the marks of amorous lips. He was still wearing pants- thank god- but they were unlaced and Auguste couldn’t bear to think about what he hadn’t been in time to stop.

He took a step forward and Laurent flinched away from him. What sort of beast must he look like for his brother to be afraid of him? He forced himself to stop, to take a deep breath, to calm. He knelt at Laurent’s bedside and raised his shaking hands towards him only to jerk back when he saw they were covered in blood. 

How could he touch his brother with uncle’s blood tainting his skin? He faltered and Laurent started weeping harder.

“I- I’m sorry,” Laurent managed to force out. “I- I’m so sorry. A-Auguste, please- please don’t be angry with me.”

“Angry with- with _you?”_ Auguste managed incredulously. All of a sudden he wished he could kill uncle all over again, slower, over the course of days and weeks. It still wouldn’t be enough after the way he’d twisted Laurent around. He wiped his hands on the sheets and pulled off his coat, draping it over Laurent’s bare shoulders before taking him into his arms. “I could never be angry with you, darling. Come along.”

The soldiers parted for him silently as he carried Laurent to his own rooms and sat him down on his bed. They waited until Paschal arrived with his tools and salves, and then Auguste stood and walked over to a cabinet to pour himself a glass of wine with shaking hands. His whole body was shaking.

He took a deep drink as he listened to Pascal’s soothing voice talking to Laurent, asking him gentle questions.

Soon the doors opened again and his father was striding inside, his hands tightened into fists.

“What have you done?” he demanded.

Auguste drained his glass and set it down hard on a table before turning. “I did what you should have done years ago,” he said coldly, “when uncle was first caught with a boy in his bed. What you should have done when I _told you-”_

His voice cracked and he broke off, filling his glass anew. “I told you what he did. To me. And who did you believe? A child fucker, over your own son. You disgust me.”

“How dare you,” Aleron said, but the conviction was suddenly draining from his voice. He took a step backward and glanced at Laurent, the unmistakable bruises peppering his skin, before staring back into Auguste’s stormy eyes. “I- I didn’t think- it was just the fancible lies of a child, he would never- my brother would never… Not my own sons.”

“I’m taking Laurent to Acquitart for the rest of the summer,” Auguste announced. “When we return I’d prefer not to speak of this again. Please leave now.”

Aleron winced. His face was pale with horror. “Laurent,” he whispered.

“Please leave,” Auguste bit out. _“Now.”_

Aleron nodded jerkily and turned to go. “I’ll see that you’re not disturbed.”

Pascal finished whatever he was doing and stood uncertainly. “It’s not… it’s not too bad, considering,” he said quietly. “I could give you a full report, your highness…?”

“No,” Auguste said. “Please leave me alone with my brother.”

He drained the second glass before he had the courage to look up at Laurent, watching him from the bed. He’d calmed. He wasn’t badly hurt. Uncle was dead. It was finally over.

“Auguste?” Laurent whispered. “Are you alright?”

“Am I…” he swallowed heavily and set the empty wine glass down. He felt dizzy and nauseous, completely exhausted. “I’m just fine, darling.”

“You’re crying.”

“Oh,” he said and brought his fingers up to his face. His cheeks were wet. “That I am,” he agreed numbly.

Laurent held his hand out and Auguste went to him, lying down on the bed and pulling him into his arms, burying his face in Laurent’s soft golden hair.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That I couldn’t stop him. I tried to stop him.”

He wasn’t entirely sure that Laurent understood, but he held Auguste as he wept and that was enough, for now.

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [barbitone](http://barbitone.tumblr.com/) and pillowfort also at [barbitone](https://www.pillowfort.io/barbitone)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [My Brother's Lover](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19808338) by [barbitone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone)




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